Lessons Learned
by BAFFDWTWFMAfan
Summary: Was Roy's transformation from suicidal taboo seeker to ambitious soldier really as simple as telling Maes his plans for the future? Rated for mild language and a bit of bloody violence. Spoilers for Episode 25.
1. Part 1a

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters. However, I do own all of the DVDs. Does that count for anything?

_Author's Note:_ This is my first fan fiction. Contains SPOILERS for (yep, you guessed it) Episode 25. Oh, and I directly stole a couple of quotes from the same episode.

* * *

**Lessons Learned**

_Part I: Tending the Fire_

Maes Hughes strode briskly down the narrow hallway, struggling to keep the anxiety he felt under tight control. He stopped in front of the last door on the left and knocked.

Several moments passed with no response. He tried again, knuckles rapping sharply on the wooden barrier.

"Roy?" he called, leaning close to the door in an attempt to avoid disturbing the people in the adjoining apartment so late at night. "It's me, Maes."

Still no answer.

Amber eyes narrowed worriedly behind rectangular glasses, Maes pounded the side of his fist against the door, all concern for the neighbors gone. "Dammit, Roy! I know you're in there. Open up!"

Nearly three weeks had passed since the day Maes knocked on this same door to deliver an apple pie from his girlfriend, Gracia. On that day, a shockingly haggard-looking Roy Mustang had answered. Maes had followed his friend apprehensively into the dim-lit apartment and been appalled to discover dozens of alchemy books and papers scattered haphazardly around the main room, complex equations and transmutation circles scrawled across every square inch of visible floor, and buckets of what looked disturbingly like blood littering the alcove beneath the room's only window.

Roy had delivered his explanation of the chaos in a chillingly casual tone, "It's called a taboo. Forbidden alchemy. It's kinda fun."

Equally unsettling, Roy's unholstered handgun had rested within too easy reach on the corner of the nearby table.

"I had it in my mouth, Maes."

Maes wasn't certain why Roy hadn't pulled the trigger that day—the cowardice he claimed or because of Maes' arrival. He hoped it was the former. It was much easier to believe that his best friend still possessed the stability of mind not to kill himself than to imagine what Maes might have found had he reached the young alchemist's apartment a minute or two later.

Whatever the reason, Roy had made the sane choice against suicide and told Maes of the plan that would give the alchemist's "detestable" life meaning. He would become Fuhrer, transform the country for which he served as a State Alchemist, and change the system that used those alchemists as human weapons. He would make sure that no one could ever again issue the types of orders that had turned Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, into a killer.

An eerie, determined calm had settled over Roy as he spoke of his plan, a calm Maes found nearly as disquieting as the state of his friend's apartment or his sallow, unshaven face and the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He had no doubts Roy could attain his stated goal, and he promised to help push him to the top, but was Roy truly devoted to the plan? Or was his announcement of it simply a ploy to get Maes out of the apartment and allow the alchemist to get back to whatever he'd been doing?

Not long ago, Maes would have been able to read Roy's mental and emotional state and understand his intentions with little more than a glance. But ever since returning from the east and the horrors of the war in Ishbal, Roy had become a closed book, his thoughts and feelings hidden behind a hard-eyed, grim-faced mask. And so Maes had remained in his friend's shadowy apartment with its mad ornamentations, talking animatedly about everything and nothing (avoiding only the subject of the war) and listening carefully during the few occasions Roy chose to respond to his ramblings with more than a nod or a mumbled acknowledgment, all the while searching for a sign that it was safe to leave him alone.

An hour or so into the mostly one-sided conversation, Roy pushed himself away from the bookcase he was leaning against and began to return his scattered alchemy texts to their proper places and collect his strewn notes. Still responding to Maes' chatter with only an occasional glance or brief comment, he examined each sheet of paper carefully before placing it in a neat stack on his desk or dropping it into a squat metal trash can nearby.

Maes kept up his cheerful banter and helped with the cleaning as best as he could. He returned dirty dishes to the kitchen and threw away clearly unusable items and crumpled pieces of paper. As he sifted through the materials on the table, his hand brushed Roy's gun. He picked it up.

The alchemist glanced up sharply from a pile of notes he'd just taken off the couch. His right hand slid into his trouser pocket, slanted eyes narrowed beneath a fall of black hair. Maes quirked a smile at him and, moving very deliberately, unloaded the gun. With a slight nod, Roy returned to his examination of the papers he held. Maes carried the gun into the bedroom and left it on the chair where Roy had hung his uniform jacket.

He returned to find the alchemist standing in front of his desk. He still held the papers he'd retrieved from the couch, but he was staring at the stack of notes on the desk with a hint of a frown on his features. After a moment, he combined the two piles of paper and dropped them all in the trash. He raised his right hand, and Maes caught a flash of white as Roy pulled on his transmutation glove. The alchemist snapped his fingers, and flames leaped from the metal bin, reducing the papers to ash in a matter of seconds.

He glanced at Maes. "I won't be needing those where I'm going."

Maes felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he smiled. But memory of his friend's mercurial slide from suicidal taboo-seeker to ambitious soldier made him realize just how quickly he could slide back.

Roy Mustang was a fire that needed more than a single night's tending.

* * *

_Continues in Part 1b...  
_


	2. Part 1b

_Disclaimer:_ I still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist (except the DVDs and a T-shirt). If I _did_ own it, Roy and Greed would each have their own shows.

* * *

**Lessons Learned**

_Part I: Tending the Fire (cont'd)_

"Isn't your girlfriend going to get upset about you spending so much time here?" Roy asked when Maes appeared at his door for the third evening in a row to help clean his apartment. The alchemist had cleaned himself up admirably the day after Maes caught him at the taboo, showing up for work at Central Headquarters on time, clean shaven, and, if not exactly bright eyed, at least with a little less of a haunted look about him. His quarters, however, needed a bit more work.

"Nah, Gracia likes you," Maes said, pushing his way into the apartment. "I guess there's no accounting for taste. Besides, she says it's good for me to have a project outside of work."

Roy smirked, a hint of his former self glinting in his eyes. "Is that what I am to you? A project?"

Maes grinned. "Since the very first day we met."

"Yeah? And how's that working out?"

"Ask me again in a decade or so." He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked around the room. "So, what are we doing tonight?"

"Well, since you asked..." Roy thrust a bucket of soapy water and a sponge at him. "_You're_ working on the floor. You—wouldn't want me to get my hands wet."

A flutter of concern shivered up Maes' spine. Roy was smiling, and Maes knew he'd meant his words as a joke, but he'd heard the catch in his friend's voice, betraying the fears that still troubled him. Before Ishbal, Roy had only carried his transmutation glove when he knew he needed it for a demonstration or something similar, but since returning from the war, he kept it with him at all times, and on more than one occasion Maes had seen him reach for it when startled. Pulling it on with wet hands might dampen the ignition cloth enough to make it unable to spark.

Maes forced a smile. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Clearly, Roy still needed to be watched.

###

A week later, Maes stood at the door to Gracia's house, a colorful bouquet of flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. His heart quickened pleasantly when he heard her familiar footsteps approaching from the far side of the barrier.

"Hello, beautiful," he said when she opened the door. He held out the flowers and chocolate. "I brought these for you, to make up for last night."

She took the gifts with a smile and gave Maes a kiss. "You big goof, you didn't need to bring me anything. I told you before, you deserve to spend at least one night a week with your friends."

He shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin. "I missed you."

Gracia wrapped an arm around one of his and pulled him inside. "I missed you, too." She closed the door and turned to look at him with an obviously feigned expression, brow furrowed comically over her beautiful blue-green eyes and lips pressed together in a thin line. "You didn't drink too much, did you?"

Maes dialed up a look of pure innocence. "Me, drink too much? Nah."

"Well, that's good, then." Her severe expression faded to a gentle smile, and she led him into the living room. "How's Roy?"

Maes sat on the couch and pulled Gracia down beside him. "Let's just say you'd better tell all of your girlfriends to watch out. I think our young Lieutenant Colonel Mustang might soon be on the prowl again."

Gracia set the flowers and chocolates on the coffee table and curled up beside him. "I know a few 'girlfriends' who are looking forward to that and to being the one who gets him to permanently stop prowling."

Maes wrapped an arm around her shoulders and buried his face in her soft brown hair, breathing in her familiar scent. "That'll be the day."

She snuggled closer, tilted her head back, and kissed him again. "Didn't you tell me I was supposed to warn all the girls in Central about Roy last week, back when you two finished cleaning his... What did you call it? His 'semi-respectable bachelor pad'?"

"That was just an early warning. I think the danger is moving closer now."

"Flirted quite a bit last night, did he?"

"Oh, only with half the people in the bar. The female half."

"Did _he_ drink too much?"

Maes shook his head, rubbing his chin against her smooth cheek. "No, he did all right. He had a few more drinks than he used to, before the war, but that's to be expected, right? I mean, after everything that happened..."

"Did he leave with anyone?"

Maes pursed his lips. "Not this time, but..." He shrugged. "At least he's looking again. Maybe things will get back to normal soon."

Gracia grinned, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "_Normal?_ I only knew you a few months before Roy got shipped off to the war, but I wouldn't call anything about the two of you 'normal.'"

Maes returned her smile. "Well, as normal as things can get when one has an over-confident, womanizing, fire-loving State Alchemist for a best friend." _If only you could get some of that confidence back,_ Maes thought, struggling to keep his smile in place_. Dammit, Roy, what happened to you?_

Gracia giggled at Maes' description of his friend. "That's more like it. Was it just the two of you last night?"

"No, we went with a couple of guys from Investigations and one of the people Roy works with."

Gracia's smile faded. "That's too bad. If it was just the two of you, maybe you could have gotten him to talk about what happened in Ishbal. That might help him, you know."

"He's talked about it."

Gracia sneered. "Oh, that's right," she said, her voice full of sarcasm. "You told me all about it. What was his grand confession? That he killed a lot of people? I don't mean one simple statement, Maes. He needs to really _talk_ about it."

Maes chuckled and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "That's always the answer with you women, isn't it? Talk about it, and everything will be fine."

Gracia sat up straight and turned to face him, arms crossed. "I'm serious, Maes."

He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "I know you are, and maybe you're right, but it was just the two of us for hours when we were cleaning his place, and he never said anything about what happened then. I don't think he wants to talk about it."

"Did you even ask?"

Maes pursed his lips. He'd read as many reports about the war as he could get his hands on, which weren't many, but they amounted to little more than lists of deployments and a whole lot of dry statistics; nothing to help him understand what might have happened to Roy. "I don't want to push him."

With an exasperated sigh, Gracia leaned against him again. "We _are_ talking about the same Roy Mustang, right? Mister never-use-a-sentence-when-a-smirk-will-do. Do you honestly think he's going to say anything without being pushed?"

Maes grinned. "You know him too well."

"Guys like Roy aren't necessarily as complex as they like others to think."

"I don't know. With him, you might be surprised."

She shrugged, clearly unwilling to pursue the subject. "Do you want me to make some dinner?"

Maes pulled her closer. "Maybe later. Right now, I just want to be with you."

She kissed him under the jaw.

"Besides," he said, "if I get hungry, there's a box of chocolates sitting right there." He waved his free hand in the general direction of the coffee table.

"Hey, those are mine!" Gracia said playfully. "My boyfriend gave them to me."

"Your boyfriend, huh? He must be a really great guy."

"Most of the time." She started to kiss his jaw again, but he bent his head and captured her lips with his own. After a long moment, he pulled away far enough to smile gently and look deep into her eyes.

"Mmm," she moaned contentedly. "That just might get you some chocolate."

He raised an eyebrow. "What would your boyfriend say?"

She snuggled farther under his arm and rested her head on his chest. "It'll be our little secret."

They sat in silence for a long time, and Maes realized just how easy that was to do with her. The only other person he could spend time around without feeling the need to fill every silence with chatter before it grew uncomfortable was Roy Mustang. Before Ishbal, anyway. Now—

"There's one thing I don't understand," Gracia said suddenly, interrupting Maes' musings. "What did Roy do to his apartment that took the two of you so long to clean up?"

Maes covered his frown with rolled eyes and an amused smirk. He hated to lie to Gracia, even if only through omission or half-truths, but she'd learned early in their relationship that he worked in Investigations and knew he wouldn't always be able to talk to her about his work. While Roy's..._issues_ weren't precisely under Maes' jurisdiction as a military investigations officer, he still thought it best to keep the full extent of the alchemist's actions between just the two of them, especially in light of Roy's plans for the future. If information about what he'd done, or nearly done, were to reach the wrong ears, Roy's fitness for duty as both a soldier and a State Alchemist might come into question.

"You know Roy," he said. "He gets himself wrapped up in something and forgets to eat, let alone pick up after himself or do anything as mundane as wash the dishes or sweep the floor. Plus he'd been gone all that time during the war. Things got pretty musty and... Well, you know how it is if you have to close a place up for a long time. And it's not as if the alchemists were given much time to get ready before they were shipped off to Ishbal."

Gracia nodded and released her breath in a little sigh. "Poor Roy. It must have been really rough on him...whatever happened out there."

It was clear to Maes that Gracia knew he hadn't told her the whole truth, but it was also clear she didn't plan to push the issue. That understanding was one of the things he loved about her. He took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "From what I've heard, it was rough on everyone."

She nodded again. "But the poor alchemists. I think they must have had it worst. Sent out there with everyone's hopes resting on their shoulders. I read in the newspaper that one of them went crazy and killed some of his own people. He had to be brought back to Central under restraint."

Maes nodded. "Kimblee. I'm sure the higher-ups would have liked to keep his name and antics out of the paper, but when you send your alchemists off with so much publicity and promise they'll end the war then bring one of them back under arrest, it's hard to keep under wraps."

"The poor man. Do you think whatever happened to him happened to Roy, too?"

"I sure hope not."

"Maes, you really should talk to him about it."

"Gracia, I don't..." He sighed unhappily. She was probably right. Whatever Roy had gone through, keeping it bottled up inside himself couldn't be good. He squeezed her hand again. "What if he just needs more time?"

"Time for what?"

"I don't know. To work things out on his own. He hasn't been back that long."

Gracia sat up and gave him a stern look. "How long will he have to be back before you decide it's enough time?"

Maes frowned and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his forehead cradled in his palms. "Dammit, Gracia, I don't know. I can't put an exact number on it, but I'll know when it's time."

Gracia released an exasperated sigh, and Maes knew she thought he was stalling. Maybe he was.

She snaked a hand under his chin, forcing him to sit up, and looked him straight in the eyes. "Give him one more week. That will make it over two months since he got back. When you get together for your night out next week, take him over to your place, or go to his if you think that's better, or—hell, I don't know—go to a bar if that will work, but _talk_ to him. And make him talk to you."

Maes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right. You win." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I really wish Roy would stop screwing around and find a girlfriend to look after him or that I could just stop caring about him so damn much."

Gracia's expression softened to a tender look. "If you could do that, I wouldn't care about _you _so much. And you couldn't stop caring anyway. You two are closer than most brothers."

With a defeated groan, Maes leaned back and let his head rest against the top of the couch. _Damn you, Roy,_ he thought, staring helplessly at the ceiling. _And damn Gracia for being so _right_...about everything._

Gracia took his hand in hers. "Roy's lucky he has you," she whispered.

Maes pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her neck. "I'm lucky I have you. More lucky than I ever realized."

"And I'm lucky to have you, Maes. I love you so much."

Maes' throat tightened, and a mixture of fear and excitement sped his heart as he realized he was going to have to do something that could prove to be as difficult as getting Roy Mustang to talk about Ishbal. He was going to ask Gracia to marry him.

* * *

_Continues in Part 1c..._


	3. Part 1c

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. And I'm not making any money off all these words... just obeying my muse.

* * *

**Lessons Learned**

_Part I: Tending the Fire (cont'd)_

The following week passed far too quickly for Maes' liking. When he wasn't contemplating how he was going to get Roy to talk without making the alchemist angry enough to burn him to a cinder, he was trying to come up with some way to avoid the confrontation entirely, preferably a way that wouldn't make it painfully obvious to Gracia that he was going against his promise to talk to Roy. He'd put his plans to propose to her on hold for now, preferring to deal with one nerve-wracking issue at a time. Not that Roy was more important to him than Gracia. Hell, they were of equal importance in his life, only in radically different ways. It was just that Roy's problems felt more like a looming crisis, whereas he had plenty of time to ask Gracia to marry him and an entire lifetime to spend with her, assuming he survived his encounter with Roy...and Gracia said yes.

When the evening he and Roy agreed to get together arrived, Maes still hadn't figured out the details of his plan, but he _had_ worked out a first step with Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, the feisty, no-nonsense sharpshooter assigned to work as Roy's aide after he returned from the war.

Maes liked Hawkeye; she served as a steady head to Roy's often flighty one and had no qualms about getting in his face when he was behaving like an ass. Amazingly, Roy let her get away with it. Even in the short time she and Roy had worked together, it was clear to Maes that they were a match made in the heaven Roy refused to believe in. Yet as much as Roy liked to avoid doing things by the book, he took fraternization very seriously. Maes didn't blame him, given the potential problems it could cause. It was just too bad that both Roy and Hawkeye felt so dedicated to their military careers; without that, there might be a chance for them. As it was, Maes feared they would forever be nothing more than a potential that could never be reached.

Well acquainted with Roy's laziness when it came to office work, Maes hung around the Investigations office after everyone from his shift had left, taking the time to finish a few extra tasks and change into a collared shirt, sports coat and slacks, and comfortable shoes. He didn't bother heading for Roy's office until close to 1900 hours, aware that even by that time, Roy would almost certainly still be working.

"Hey, Royo," he said with a grin as he stepped into the large office with its empty work table and chairs where the alchemist's subordinates sat during regular hours. "You about ready to get the hell out of here?"

Roy looked up from his desk. Through the windows behind him, the sky was fading to a dim evening gray. He sneered. "I was ready hours ago." He set aside the report he'd been reading.

"Oh, no, you don't, sir," Hawkeye said, striding into the office behind Maes. She glanced at him as she passed, and her uncompromising expression softened momentarily. "Good evening, Major Hughes."

He smiled and nodded. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, can Lieutenant Colonel Mustang come out and play? I promise to have him back to the office by 0800 tomorrow."

For just a moment, Hawkeye looked like she might actually smile, then her stubborn expression returned. She marched up to Roy's desk and slapped another report down before him. "He can leave when he's finished with what he's working on now," she told Maes, then looked at Roy and tapped the report she'd just delivered. "This is due at 0830 tomorrow. I suggest you finish it before you leave tonight. Sir."

Roy groaned and gave Maes a "rescue me" look.

Maes sat down on the corner of his friend's desk. "Sorry, Roy, this one's out of my jurisdiction."

"Oh, and sir," Hawkeye continued, still looking at Roy, "I have to go now. Should I arrange for someone to drive you home?"

"That won't be necessary, Lieutenant," Maes said, silently thanking her for getting to her one small part in his plan so quickly. Too bad she hadn't also managed to get Roy to finish his work on time. "I can drive him home."

"Thank you, Major. Good night, sirs."

Roy watched her leave and then glanced at Maes. "Hello, Maes," he said, rather belatedly. "Sorry, but this might take awhile."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Learning to forge my signature would be a good start. And find a reason to have Hawkeye shot. Fatally."

Maes laughed. "Sorry, there are some things I won't do, even for you."

"Is it the forgery or the firing squad you're having trouble with?"

Still chuckling, Maes pointed to the reports. "The sooner you get those finished, the sooner we can get out of here."

"Yes, mom." Roy sighed again and returned his attention to the report he'd been reading.

Maes took the opportunity to study his friend. Roy had gained back some of the weight he lost while in the east, and his features held less of the slack, defeated look they'd displayed when he first returned, but subtle signs of his ordeal remained. Maes doubted a casual observer would notice anything wrong, but the tightness around Roy's eyes and in the set of his mouth hadn't been there before the war, and some indefinable _something_ lurked deep in his dark eyes, hinting at horrors no one should have to endure.

"Oh, to hell with it!" Roy said suddenly. He flipped quickly through the remaining pages of the report, eyes skimming the words with vague interest, scrawled his signature on the last page, and tossed it onto a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. He picked up the report Hawkeye had brought, glanced at the first page and slammed it shut. "Let's get out of here."

Maes smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

_Continues in Part 1d...  
_


	4. Part 1d

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. Just playing in the sandbox.

* * *

**Lessons Learned**

_Part I: Tending the Fire (cont'd)_

The car sat outside the Central Command building in a pool of yellow light cast by a streetlamp. Maes climbed into the driver's seat and pondered, not for the first time, why Roy Mustang, a man who thrived on feeling in control of every situation, had never learned how to drive. Roy's answers to the question had always been vague: no time, no need, why bother when he had others willing to do it for him, or (Maes' personal favorite) that he simply liked to watch the world roll by, something that certainly seemed true whenever they took a trip together by train. Maes decided the truth was most likely a little of each, or maybe riding in a car was one of the few times Roy gave himself permission to relinquish control.

The click of a back door opening drew Maes out of his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Roy getting in the back seat.

The alchemist met his gaze. "Sorry." He climbed out, closed the door, and slid into the passenger seat instead. "Habit."

Maes shrugged. "I'm willing to chauffeur you around if that's what you want."

Roy smiled weakly. "Maybe some other time."

"Got a destination in mind?" Maes asked as he started the car and switched on the headlamps. The beams stabbed parallel lines through the gathering darkness.

"No."

"How about we head over to your place? You can change out of your uniform and get into something more comfortable."

"Sure."

Maes glanced at his friend, concerned by his curt replies, but Roy was looking out the side window, and Maes could see only a hint of his profile against the night. He started to ask if anything was wrong, thinking this might be a good opportunity to try to get Roy talking, but decided against it.

_Coward_, he admonished himself as he steered the car onto the main road through Central. _How many opportunities are you going to let slip by?_ But it still didn't feel like the right time, and surely a car was not the right place. The miles between headquarters and Roy's apartment passed with only the whir of the engine and the hiss of tires on pavement.

The street in front of Roy's three-story apartment building was too narrow to park on, but Maes slowed the car as they drew near in case Roy wanted to be dropped off.

A group of five men stood in the shadows created by the light over the building's front entrance. One of them glanced at the car as it approached, bright eyes gleaming from an indistinct face. He raised something to his mouth—a flask or bottle, Maes thought—and turned back to his companions.

"You want me to let you out here?" Maes asked Roy, continuing to watch the men. Something about them was plucking at the sixth sense he depended on when working an investigation, suggesting they might be up to no good. "I can park around back and meet you upstairs."

"I told you you're not my chauffeur. I can walk in from the back with you."

"Good, because I don't like the look of those guys. Hopefully, they'll have moved on by the time we get back."

Roy glanced at the men. "They're probably just waiting for someone."

"Maybe." Maes accelerated past the building. "But there's something about them that doesn't feel right." He bit back a scowl. _More likely, I'm projecting my own nerves onto innocent bystanders._

Roy cast a half-smile in his direction. "You're not at work, Maes. Hell, you're not even in uniform. Stop investigating my neighbors." He glanced back at the men as Maes turned right at the corner to circle around the apartment building to the parking lot in the back. His expression grew serious, and he met Maes' eyes. "Still... If you really think there's a problem, I can call the cops when we get to my place."

Maes forced a smile. "Don't worry about it. You're probably right. I need to get out of work mode and stop looking for conspiracies." He pulled into the lot and shut off the car and headlights, leaving the spillover from a lone streetlamp as the main source of illumination.

Roy led Maes toward the narrow breezeway—really little more than a glorified alley—that ran along the side of the building. Three dim lights affixed at regular intervals high on the wall lit the passage out to the main street.

"You're quiet tonight," Roy said as they entered the breezeway.

Something rustled behind them, and Maes spun around, left arm tensed, ready to flick his knife into his hand.

"And jumpy," Roy added. "Rough day?"

Maes found nothing of concern and tried to force himself to relax. "Rough _week_. I..." He hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage. "Roy, there's something we need to talk about."

"Sure, Maes. What is it?"

He hesitated again. Maybe it would be better to wait until they were inside. He scowled. _Coward!_

Roy glanced at him. "Maes?"

"Sorry, I...uh..." _Damn. I can't do this,_ he thought and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'm going to ask Gracia to marry me."

"About time," Roy drawled. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Maes wanted to kick himself for his cowardice, but at least he'd managed to say _something_ of importance. "I'm not sure congratulations are in order, though. I haven't asked her yet."

"She'll say yes."

"You think so?"

Roy shot him one of his trademark smirks. "Maes, don't be an ass."

"Yeah, Maes, listen to the hero. Don't be an ass," an unfamiliar voice said as the five men Maes had seen in front of the building stepped into the passage before them, blocking their way.

Maes froze and scrutinized the men. They wore loose, nondescript clothing in muted shades of brown, gray, and tan. Three of them had dark complexions that suggested eastern origins, and two of those, including the one who had spoken, looked enough alike to be brothers. None appeared particularly steady on their feet, although the speaker and his brother had enough clarity in their eyes to mark them as the two that deserved the closest attention. One of the lighter-skinned men took a long draught from a metal flask and passed it to the man beside him. Clearly, the group had started their evening revelry early.

Roy halted beside Maes and dipped a hand into his pocket for his glove.

The speaker withdrew a gun from under his stained, baggy shirt and pointed it at the alchemist. "Nice try, Mustang, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. Let's see your hands. Both of them. Nice and slow."

Roy cast a sidelong glance at Maes and held his empty hands out in front of him at chest level, palms forward. "You know," he said to the gunman, his tone conversational and a good deal of his old cockiness evident in his expression, "assaulting a military officer carries quite a stiff penalty."

Maes relaxed minutely. Someone (albeit an intoxicated someone) was holding a gun on Roy, he wasn't wearing his transmutation glove, and yet he was maintaining control. Compared to the alchemist's reaction when Maes picked up the gun in his apartment nearly three weeks earlier, things had certainly improved. Maybe Gracia was wrong about Roy's need to talk things out. He'd certainly been acting more like his old self recently.

Maes switched from worrying about Roy to preparing for a fight. He shifted his weight slightly in case he needed to use one of his knives. Since he was out of uniform, the men might not suspect he was any sort of threat and keep all of their attention on Roy. They'd used the alchemist's name, so they clearly knew who he was, which wasn't surprising considering all of the ceremonies surrounding the return of the State Alchemists as war heroes. The men were probably members of one of the anti-war groups that had been so vocal during the campaign in the east. The military had looked into the organizations and determined that none of them posed a danger. Maes wondered what had changed.

Then again, maybe these five were just drunken rabble-rousers who'd realized Roy Mustang lived here and thought they'd try to prove their bravery to one another by confronting him. _Fools._

"You're no officer, Mustang," the gunman said. "You're a murderer, a _monster_. And for that, the State gave you a promotion, made you a hero. The Flame Alchemist, hero of Ishbal, hero of the people." The man laughed, a harsh sound that echoed sharply in the alley. He waved the gun in what he doubtless thought was a threatening manner, but in truth served only to throw off his aim should he decide to use it. "Murderer of women and children. That's the real truth, isn't it, Mustang? The State points you at a target, and with one simple order, they pull the trigger."

Maes watched Roy out of the corner of his eye, worried about the turn the gunman's accusations had taken.

Roy's hands dropped to his sides, and he stood stiffly in place, his expression blank. The fingers on his right hand twitched.

_Don't do anything stupid, Roy,_ Maes pleaded silently. He studied the gunman's companions, searching for any hint of concealed weapons, but quickly decided that if they had guns, they'd be brandishing them, as well. They were likely just followers, tagging along with the gunman and his brother for a bit of sport. If only they knew what a deadly game they were playing by challenging Roy.

Maes carefully gauged the distance between himself and the gunman.

"Nothing to say for yourself, _Flame_?" The man spat Roy's second name like a curse and waved the gun again.

Roy flinched, and his hand disappeared into his pocket.

Maes reacted instantly. He flexed his wrist, releasing his knife from the spring-sheath strapped to his forearm, caught the blade, and threw it, all in one smooth motion.

The knife buried itself high on the gunman's side as he pulled the trigger. His shot went wild, and the bullet struck the wall beside Roy, spraying slivers of stone and mortar into the passage. The gunman grasped at the knife in his side, his cry of pain drowned out by the echo of the gunshot in the alley. Face blanched, he stumbled to his hands and knees, gasping. The gun clattered away across the ground.

The gunman's brother cursed. The man holding the flask dropped it with a clash of metal on stone and stumbled back a step. The other two stood frozen, eyes wide, as if shocked by the sudden turn of events.

Maes drew his second knife from its sheath on the back of his belt and glanced at Roy.

The alchemist had pulled his glove on and stood with his thumb and finger pressed tightly together, ready to snap. His eyes held an oddly distant look, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

"Easy, Roy," Maes whispered. "It's under control." He looked at the men, knife held ready. "Back away from the gun," he ordered.

The four standing men shuffled back a step. Roy didn't move.

"No!" the wounded man gasped from the ground. "Get the gun! Stop him!"

His brother glanced at the weapon.

"Back away!" Maes snapped, adjusting his aim.

"He's a weapon of the State!" the wounded man spat, clutching his blood-soaked side. "He killed defenseless people, murdered them in their sleep! Stop him_...for them!_" He tried to stand, but made it only halfway before collapsing to the ground with a muffled groan.

Roy still hadn't moved. He continued to stare at—_through_—the men, watching something only he could see, every line of his body stretched tight.

Maes held his free hand out toward his friend but dared not touch him, fearful of how he might react. "Dammit, Mustang, relax," he hissed then glared at the men. "All of you, back off now! Back off or—"

The brother dove for the gun.

Maes snapped his knife-hand forward. "Flame, stand down!" he shouted, praying he got through to Roy before the alchemist fried all five of the men.

The knife struck the brother in the throat as his hand closed around the gun's grip. His mouth gaped silently, and he toppled to the ground to lie twitching in a rapidly growing pool of blood.

The other three men stared at Maes for an instant, then one of them turned and ran into the street. The other two followed. They pushed their way through the small crowd of onlookers the commotion had attracted and disappeared into the night.

Maes dashed forward, cursing. He snatched the gun out of the dying man's grasp and turned it on the other, but one look at his pale, pain-twisted face and the amount of blood staining his shirt assured Maes he wouldn't be causing any more trouble for a while.

The man's eyes flicked briefly toward Maes and then shifted to stare at the body lying a short distance away. He started to speak, but managed only a wet-sounding cough. He groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Try not to move," Maes said. "You—"

Footsteps pounded from the direction of the street, and Maes raised the gun, finger tight on the trigger.

"Whoa!" The young man who'd run up to him held out empty hands to show he wasn't a threat. "I just wanted to let you know the police are on their way."

Maes lowered the gun and gave a curt nod. "Thanks." He looked at the growing crowd. "I'm Major Hughes, Military Investigations. Any of you who saw what happened need to wait here and talk to the police. If you know any of the men involved, I'm going to have to ask you to stay, as well."

"Is that man...dead?" a woman asked from the crowd.

Maes glanced at the body. He hadn't intended his throw to be fatal, but in a life-threatening situation, instinct and training tended to take over. "Please, ma'am just wait out there for the police. They'll take care of everything."

Satisfied he had the situation under control, he turned to check on Roy.

The alchemist was leaning with his back against the wall. He held his gloved right hand before him, palm up, and was staring as if he'd never seen it before. He looked small and vulnerable, much younger than his actual twenty-three years. A thin trickle of blood traced a crimson line down one pale cheek, doubtless caused by a sliver of stone dislodged when the bullet hit the wall.

Maes frowned worriedly and stepped up beside him. "Roy? Are you all right?"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut then lowered his hand and pushed himself away from the wall. "I'm...fine," he said, staring across the passageway, eyes unfocused. His voice was flat, toneless, unconvincing.

"Roy—" Maes started, worry clenching an icy fist around his heart.

The sound of multiple car engines roared from either end of the breezeway, and the bright beams of headlamps stabbed the length of the passage. Police officers poured from the vehicles, guns drawn.

_Damn._ Maes dropped the gun he held and raised his hands. It was going to be a long night.

###

Maes removed his glasses and rubbed his bleary eyes. He started to put them back on then changed his mind. After so many hours, it wasn't as if there was anything in the cramped police interrogation room he hadn't already stared at from every angle. Maybe a slightly blurred view would reveal something new.

He laid his head down on the well-worn wooden table before him and wondered how Roy was doing. He hadn't seen his friend since the police escorted the two of them to separate cars soon after arriving on the scene. Maes didn't blame the cops for separating them; he'd have done the same thing. It wasn't wise to let possible suspects have a chance to get their facts straight. Not that he thought the police believed either he or Roy were the guilty parties in what happened; they were simply following procedure. He just wished he knew what had been going through Roy's head after the police arrived. Maes had caught only a single glimpse of him as he was led away. His expression had been far too similar to the grim-faced mask he'd hidden behind after returning from Ishbal, a mask that had finally cracked the day he told Maes about his plans for the future. Maes had seen glimpses of it since then, but only briefly, and he'd hoped that after the talk they were supposed to have tonight, he'd never see it again.

Still, it might be only temporary, brought on by the gunman's fanatical accusations. Exaggerated as they obviously were, they still would have brought back enough memories of the war to upset Roy. At least with the alchemist in police custody, he wouldn't be able to act on any re-awakened ideas about suicide or taboos. Maes swore to himself that the moment they were released, he would have the promised talk with Roy and wipe all such ideas from his friend's mind.

The door opened suddenly, and Maes glanced up. Someone in a military uniform stepped into the room. Maes put his glasses back on and sat up straight in the hard metal chair. It was Kees Barnes, the slender, balding, blue-eyed colonel in charge of the Investigations night shift.

"Good evening, Colonel," Maes said, starting to stand.

"At ease, Hughes," the colonel said, waving him back into his chair. "And I'm afraid 'good morning' would be more appropriate. It's well after midnight."

Maes smiled weakly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Are you here to take a statement?" This would make it the third...no, _fourth_ time tonight he had to tell the story of what happened in the alley.

"Actually I'm here to tell you that you're free to leave," Barnes said. "My people and the police have gone over your and Mustang's statements, as well as those of the eyewitnesses, and everything checks out. Plus the police managed to track down one of the men who fled from the scene, and he confirmed what everyone else said. You and Lieutenant Colonel Mustang were clearly the victims of an assault."

"What about the two men the police picked up at the scene? Did you find out who they were or who they worked for?"

"Easterners, as you suspected, but not Ishbalan. One of them was DOA. The other's in bad shape, but he might make it. We're doing all we can for him, if for no other reason than to find out who he is. At this point, we're guessing he came in recently from the east, unhappy with what happened out there and looking for someone to blame. We've had checkpoints up at every train station, road, and other egress point into Central, watching for malcontents like him. Apparently he managed to slip past them all. We don't believe he was working for anyone. Someone hiring people to stir up trouble would be smart enough to not send such an ill-equipped crew after someone like Mustang. Odds are they were just a group of hotheads looking for trouble who found far more than they bargained for. We'll be watching for similar incidents, but I honestly don't think we'll see any."

Maes nodded. Barnes' explanation of the incident was pretty close to what he'd figured out on his own. "Sorry to cause all the trouble and drag you and your men down here tonight."

"It wasn't your fault, Major, and it beats sitting at my desk all night doing paperwork."

The corner of Maes' mouth curled in a half-smile. "I suspect this little incident is going to produce plenty of that later."

Barnes laughed good-naturedly. "You're right about that, but at least it got me out of HQ. I'm just glad you and Mustang are all right. Good job there, by the way. Five against two, and Flame never having to use his alchemy."

"Well, sir, as you pointed out, they weren't particularly well-equipped with only the one gun between them and I suspect more than a little alcohol to bolster their courage."

"Good job, nevertheless." Barnes turned toward the door. "I'll let you get going. I'm sure you're more than ready to get out of this place. One of my men will meet you out front to drive you home."

Maes stood. "Thank you, sir. Do you happen to know where Mustang is? I thought maybe we could catch a ride together."

Barnes paused in the doorway and glanced back. "Didn't they tell you? He was released hours ago."

Maes felt his heart skip a beat. _Hours_ ago? An image of Roy's stone-eyed expression in the breezeway slammed into his mind, followed by an almost identical image of the alchemist only days after returning from Ishbal. Again he saw the books and papers littering Roy's apartment, the wild scrawl of alchemic equations and arrays covering the floor, the buckets filled with thick, dark crimson...Roy's handgun, loaded, unholstered, lying in plain view.

"_I had it in my mouth, Maes."_

Maes met Barnes' gaze, his right hand balled in a tight fist. "They _released_ him?"

"Well, he didn't actually _kill_ anybody, did he?" Barnes said with ill-concealed sarcasm, and Maes realized that the colonel had mistaken his reaction for anger at having been kept so long after Roy was released rather than worry over what the alchemist might have done since then. "Once the police had everyone's statement, they had nothing to hold him on," Barnes continued, stepping out of the room and holding the door open for Maes to follow. "Personally, I think they would have let him go anyway. I mean, seriously, who wants to hold a war hero in custody for defending himself against an unprovoked attack?"

Maes nodded and relaxed his fist. "Do you know where he went after he was released?"

"One of my people took him home."

"Thank you, sir." Maes stepped out of the room beside him. "Sorry I snapped. It's been a really long night."

Barnes nodded and put a hand on Maes' shoulder as he started down the hallway.

"Is everything all right, Major?" Barnes asked, meeting his eyes.

"I certainly hope so, sir."

* * *

_Continues in Part 1e...  
_


	5. Part 1e

_Disclaimer:_ FMA ain't mine; I'm just playing with the angst.

_Author's Note:_ This is the last section of Part I.

* * *

**Lessons Learned**

_Part I: Tending the Fire (cont'd)_

Retrieving and signing for the items the police confiscated when they took Maes into custody seemed to take an eternity; the trip to Roy's apartment seemed twice that long. During the interminable ride, Maes struggled to ignore the disturbing images his tired mind kept conjuring of what he'd find when he reached Roy's place, while a more logical (or simply more hopeful) side of him argued that he'd find his friend in bed, sleeping off the night's excitement. But when the car pulled up in front of the building, Roy's window glowed with dim light.

_Probably fell asleep with the light on,_ Maes tried to reassure himself as he entered the building and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. _Or he's got his nose buried in one of his alchemy books, waiting for me to call to let him know everything's all right. _

He reached the third floor and strode briskly down the narrow hallway, struggling to keep the anxiety he felt under tight control. He stopped in front of Roy's door and knocked.

Several moments passed with no response. He tried again, knuckles rapping sharply on the wooden barrier.

"Roy?" he called, leaning close to the door in an attempt to avoid disturbing the people in the adjoining apartment. "It's me, Maes."

Still no answer.

Eyes narrowed, Maes pounded the side of his fist against the door. "Dammit, Roy! I know you're in there. Open up!"

Maes counted slowly to thirty, his concern growing with each passing second. He took hold of the knob on the off chance Roy hadn't locked the door. The latch clicked open.

For a moment, Maes stood with his hand on the knob, the door still closed, pondering what an unlocked door could mean and fearful what he would find when he opened it. Bracing himself, he pushed the door open and looked inside.

Soft yellow light spilled from the kitchen to the left, dimly illuminating the main room. Everything looked completely normal; no chaotic jumble of papers, books, and alchemic symbols, no containers of questionable content, no gun, no body, no blood.

Maes stepped into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

"Roy? The door was unlocked, so I—"

He heard a brief rustle of fabric followed by a quiet clink from the far corner where Roy's desk sat facing the window. He peered toward the faint sounds.

Roy sat at his desk, his back to the room, staring out the window at the night sky. His pale blue uniform shirt faintly reflected the light from the kitchen.

Maes' tension began to drain away at sight of his friend, clearly alive and unharmed. "Hey, Roy." He closed the door and started across the room toward him. "The cops finally decided I wasn't a menace to society and let me go."

The alchemist didn't move.

"Roy?"

Maes reached his side. Roy's forearms rested on the desk before him, his left hand wrapped around a half-full glass, his right clutching an almost empty bottle. A second, unused glass sat on the corner of the desk.

Maes frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Roy," he said, his voice filled with dismay. "What are you doing?"

"Drinking." Roy blinked blearily up at him. "Knew ya'd come," he slurred, "so I left the door unlocked." He took a long drink, tapped the bottom of his glass clumsily against the empty one, and held up the bottle. "Want some?"

"No, thanks." Maes reached for the bottle. "And I think you've had enough."

Roy pulled the bottle away with a half-hearted snarl. "Not yet. It's still there. _They're_ still there." He returned his gaze to the night sky.

"Roy, what—?"

"He was right, Maes. About everything. I _am_ a monster." He drained his glass and refilled it with a shaking hand, managing to get most of it into the glass.

"Who—?" Maes started to ask and then realized who Roy must be talking about. "You mean that fanatic in the alley?"

Roy nodded, staring out the window again. "That's what you saved tonight, Maes. A monster. You should've let him kill me since I haven't got the balls to do it myself."

Rage exploded in Maes' chest. Fed by the tension and worry of the past several hours, it eclipsed the relief of finding Roy alive and relatively unscathed. "Damn you, Mustang!" Using both hands, he grabbed Roy by the collar and dragged him out of his chair. "Don't you ever say anything like—!"

Roy laughed in Maes' face, interrupting his outburst. "You still don't get it, do you?" he asked between chuckles.

Maes loosened his hold slightly, bewildered by his friend's reaction.

Roy jerked away and collapsed back against the wall. Bracing himself on the rough plaster with both hands, fingertips pressed hard against the surface, he glared up at Maes through dark bangs.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" he snapped, sudden anger wiping the worst of the drunken slur from his voice. "_He was right!_ Everything that bastard said out there in the alley, it was all _true._ All of it!" His anger disintegrated as rapidly as it had materialized. He slumped against the wall, slid down it, and buried his face in his hands. "All of it," he whispered. "And worse. The red stones...so much worse."

Maes gazed down at Roy, his own anger washed away by the sight of the emotional wreck that was his best friend. "Red stones? Roy, what are you talking about?"

"It's gone, you know," he said quietly. He leaned his head back against the wall. Forearms resting on his bent knees, hands dangling loosely between them, he focused on something far beyond his sight. "Ishbal. It's all gone."

"Gone?" Maes sank to the floor in front of his friend. "Roy, please, tell me what happened."

Roy shook his head. "Can't. He swore us to secrecy, made us promise not to tell."

Maes pursed his lips. At least that explained why Roy had said so little about the war and why reports on the final engagement were so hard to come by. "Who made you promise?"

"Colonel Grand. He said it was an important advancement, that we had to keep it secret. But then Marcoh took all of his research, so I'm not sure it matters now."

"Tim Marcoh, the Crystal Alchemist?" Maes asked. He remembered reading about him after the war. "The deserter?"

Roy gave an odd, mocking laugh. "Yeah, the _deserter_."

"What was he researching?"

Roy refocused his gaze briefly to give Maes a sly look. "Ah-ah. Not supposed to tell."

"Roy, it's me. You know damn well I won't tell anyone else." It felt odd asking Roy to reveal a military secret, but it was clear he needed to tell _someone_, and Maes figured he was the most likely, as well as the safest, candidate.

The alchemist frowned and glanced away. "You'll hate me."

Maes reached out and took one of Roy's dangling hands in his own. "Nothing could make me hate you, Roy. Whatever you did, you were just following orders."

Roy met his eyes, his gaze intense. "Some orders should never be followed."

"What choice did you have?"

He lowered his eyes. "I could've left, like Marcoh."

"If you did that, you'd never get the chance to become Fuhrer and stop people from issuing those kinds of orders."

Roy shook his head. "Had nothin' to do with that. I'm a coward. That's why I didn't leave...why I couldn't pull the trigger."

"At least you're alive."

"The Ishbalans aren't."

Maes sighed. "If you hadn't been there to follow those orders, someone else would have. Soldiers die in wars. I'm sure the Ishbalans knew that as much as you did."

Roy jerked his hand out of Maes' grasp and slammed his fist against the front of the desk beside him. "Dammit, Maes! Haven't you been listening? Didn't you hear what that man said in the alley? We weren't sent to Ishbal to kill soldiers or rebel fighters. We were sent to kill _civilians_—men, women, and children. At night. In their beds. With no warning, no chance to defend themselves!" He paused and drew a shaky breath. "And I did it, Maes. The State pointed me at the target, and with one simple order, they pulled the trigger. And you know what's worse?" His eyes narrowed to feral slits. "For a little while, I _enjoyed_ it."

Maes stared, slack-jawed, taken aback by his friend's confession.

"That's right, Maes. That's what you saved tonight by killing that poor bastard in the alley."

"Roy, you can't—"

"No! Listen to me! You want to know why we were sworn to secrecy? I'll tell you. _Alchemic augmentation._ That's what Marcoh was working on. Red stones that enhance alchemic reactions. Marcoh brought them to Ishbal. Colonel Grand ordered they be given to each of the alchemists, and then he sent us out against the Ishbalans. That first night, I was sent into a neighborhood that rebel soldiers had taken over, or so I was told. My orders were to clean it out at all costs. _At all costs._ As far as Grand was concerned, I could level the place, if that's what it took. And that's exactly what I did."

Maes started to answer, but Roy continued, "Marcoh had given me a ring with a red stone. I wore it over my glove. I didn't feel anything when I put it on, but when I located my first target and started to concentrate on the transmutation, the stone began to glow. I could sense the air for blocks around me, not just the hundred or so feet I can normally access. And I could manipulate it from that distance, too. One snap and I had an entire city block in flames. Do you have any idea what that _feels_ like, Maes? That much power..."

Maes swallowed hard. The abilities of an alchemist—_any_ alchemist, from the craftsmen who used transmutations to create works of art, to highly trained State Alchemists like Roy—had always left him with an uncomfortable feeling of awe mixed with more than a touch of fear. Sure, alchemy was a science, completely explainable by well-defined mathematical formulas and scientific laws, but to have the ability to control elements with such precision sometimes felt more like miracle than math, and he often thought he understood the Ishbalans' fear of it as an affront against nature and their god. Roy's unaugmented ability to so precisely control fire was impressive as all hell; trying to imagine that ability increased several fold was downright terrifying. Maes suppressed a shudder. _No wonder Kimblee went crazy. I'm surprised more of the alchemists didn't._

Roy started to speak again, "For the first few days, using the stone was...intoxicating, addictive. I could barely sleep, and when I did, I dreamed about it. And then one day I was called out of my tent to help with clean-up. The enlisted men had been tasked with gathering the bodies left in the ruins of the alchemists' attacks. They'd dug a hole to serve as a mass grave, but someone had decided that burning the bodies before they were buried would help cut down on the smell and the possible spread of disease. I felt nothing but irritation at the assignment. Granted, I was the best one for the job, but it was hardly a worthy task for a State Alchemist. Still, it was an order, so I went out like a good little soldier to do what I was told. And then I saw what was inside that hole.

"I hadn't expected it to be pretty. I knew what our alchemy did to our enemies: the burns, the gunshots, the crushed limbs, the body parts. But I never expected to see women and children in that hole, or old men and babies. We were fighting a war, stopping a rebellion. We were killing enemy soldiers. _Men._ But the bodies in that hole told a different story. Staring into it, I realized what we were really doing, what the State had turned us into. Suddenly, the ring felt like a piece of filth wrapped around my finger, a stain of spilt blood and wasted lives that I could never wash away. And yet I stood over that hole and did as I was told, burning away the evidence of our sins. And when orders came pinpointing my next 'rebel' target, I used the ring to destroy it and all the people that were there."

Maes opened his mouth to reply and then shut it. What could he say that hadn't already been said? That Roy had no choice.? That he'd only been following orders? Even if he had a new argument, it wouldn't change anything. He closed his eyes and felt his shoulders start to slump in defeat. He quickly squared them, worried what such a display would do to Roy's already fragile state. There had to be something other than an argument he could use to get Roy past his dangerous self-loathing.

"That's not all," Roy said in a voice so low Maes barely caught the words.

He opened his eyes to find Roy's head resting against the wall again, his gaze lost in the distance.

"There were two doctors," he said, his voice as distant as his gaze. "A husband and wife. They were there to help treat our soldiers, but someone caught them treating injured Ishbalans, too. They were ordered to stop, but they didn't. Colonel Grand said they were endangering our lives by rehabilitating enemy fighters and decided something had to be done about them. By that time, I'm certain the colonel had noticed I wasn't performing my duties with the amount of enthusiasm he expected. He told me to take care of the doctors _without_ using alchemy. He said he wanted the bodies recognizable as a warning to anyone else, either soldier or civilian, who thought about aiding the enemy or disobeying an order. I think he wanted to see how far he could push me." Roy paused and looked at Maes. His face held no expression, but tears shimmered in his eyes. He lowered his gaze, reached to the top of the desk, and felt around blindly until his hand encountered the bottle. He pulled it down.

Maes pursed his lips. "Did you do it?"

Roy nodded. "I shot them both, one bullet each, quick and clean. They pleaded with me to let them go, that they were only trying to help people. They—" Roy's voice caught and he took a drink from the bottle. "They showed me a picture of their little girl back home. But it meant nothing...their cries, their pleading, the picture. I was completely numb. Or so I thought. After... after they were dead and Grand had their bodies taken away to whatever display he had planned for them, I—tried to kill myself."

Maes sighed. _He tried in Ishbal, too?_ "What happened?"

Roy took another drink from the bottle. "Marcoh stopped me."

"Marcoh? Why? Not that I'm complaining."

"He said I wasn't to blame for what happened, that it was all his fault because he'd brought the stones."

"He was right."

"Was he?" Roy held the bottle up and stared into it. "He didn't force that ring onto my finger or make me use it. He didn't kill those doctors. I had a choice in all of it. I chose the coward's way out." He brought the bottle to his lips again.

Maes sensed a way he might get through to Roy. He reached forward and jerked the bottle away before he could take another drink.

"Hey!"

Maes ignored his friend's outburst and unsuccessful grab for the bottle. He swept to his feet, slammed the bottle onto the desk, and glared down at Roy. "You're choosing the coward's way out now!"

Roy's brow furrowed. He looked hurt for a moment and then angry, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Maes met his fierce look with one of his own. "You want me to hate you for what you did? Want me so disgusted with you that the next time someone threatens your life I don't try to stop it? Well, it's not going to happen! We all have to make choices, Roy. Sometimes they're right, and sometimes they're wrong. You made a choice a few weeks ago to work your way to the top, to change this country, this military, so no one else would have to make the choices you did. If you think I'm going to sit by and let you drink away the memories of what you did, you're dead wrong! You need to hold onto those memories with everything you've got, let them be your driving force when things get hard, fuel for the fire that's going to let you burn your way to the top."

Slowly, Roy's heated expression relaxed. He sighed and lowered his head. "But there were so many of them," he said quietly.

"Yes, there were," Maes said, his voice calm again, "and I'm sure there will be a lot of painful reminders in the future, probably when you least expect it. But you can't let the past ruin your life. Nothing you do now or in the future will ever bring anyone back from the dead, no matter who killed them or how they died. All you can do is make their deaths mean something by remembering them and using those memories for something good."

Roy remained silent for a long time, head bowed. Finally, he glanced up at Maes. "I...guess you're right."

Maes called up a mock offended expression. "Of _course_ I'm right." He held a hand out to his friend. "Now, get up off the floor. It's not a good look for you."

With a hint of a smile, Roy took Maes' hand and let him pull him to his feet. He stood still for a moment and then collapsed into his chair and ran his hands over his face.

"Are you going to be all right?" Maes asked.

"Yeah, I think I will be." He looked up at Maes. "You...wouldn't mind sticking around awhile longer, would you? To maybe...talk a little. About what happened."

Maes smiled and sat down on the corner of the desk. "Anytime you need to talk, Roy, you know I'll be here."

* * *

_Continues in Part 2  
_


	6. Part 2

_Disclaimer:_ Me no own FMA. Me just spend some time writing about it.

* * *

**Lessons Learned**

_Part II: It's Going to Rain Today_

Roy Mustang sat at the desk in his hotel room in Central, gazing out at the clear night sky, pleased he'd been given a room with a desk near the window. Throughout his life he'd always tried to position his desk facing a window. Whether in his bedroom as a boy, in the dorms at the academy, in barracks or officer's quarters or apartments, if he had any say in the matter, his desk faced a window. It gave him the opportunity to sit and watch the world go by as he let his mind drift over and around whatever task or problem he currently faced.

Regrettably, the desk in his office hadn't been allowed to face a window in close to seven years, ever since Riza Hawkeye became his aide. She thought it would be too much of a distraction from his daily duties. Roy smiled to himself. Hawkeye knew him too well. He thought back to earlier in the day and the latest proof of that.

The two of them stood alone beside Maes Hughes' grave. The freshly carved marble headstone gleamed under a bright blue sky dotted with wisps of thin clouds. A wreath of delicate white flowers rested on the grave. Roy stared at it as he tried to get his head around everything that had happened: Maes killed in action and promoted to brigadier general, Ed and Al in danger, Lab Five...

Hawkeye discussed it all with him briefly as they stood there, but in the end, none of it mattered. It was all in the past and couldn't be changed. Roy really just wanted to be left alone, to sit in silence, or wander aimlessly, or..._ Drink until I forget...everything._

He wrest his eyes from the grave and gazed into the distance. He stared at the cottony clouds gathering over the mountains to the north and let the tears he'd kept in check during the service roll silently down his cheeks. "It—it's going to rain today," he said quietly.

Hawkeye gave him a questioning look. They'd both spent enough time in and around Central to know that the clouds dotting the blue sky above and billowing over the distant mountains were from a storm passing well to the north; the worst Central might see of it was a little wind.

"Yes," Hawkeye said after only a brief moment of confusion, and Roy knew she understood. After all, it had been Hawkeye who rather forcefully reminded him that he wasn't much use in the rain the first time he came face to face with the Ishbalan alchemist-killer, Scar. Telling her it was going to rain let her know it would be pointless to expect anything from him for the remainder of the day.

Without another word, Hawkeye accompanied him back to the car and drove him to the hotel where they were staying.

"I'll be at Central Command if you need me, Colonel," she said as he climbed out of the car.

Roy nodded and watched her drive away, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hawkeye might be willing to let him have a bit of unofficial time off, but she'd never allow herself the same luxury, even when they were away from their own command at Eastern Headquarters. Then again, she hadn't just buried her best friend.

His smile faltered, and he headed up to his room. _Dammit, Maes, what did you find out that cost you your life?_

After changing out of his dress uniform into a dark turtleneck and black slacks and tucking his transmutation gloves into his pocket, Roy went back downstairs to take a long walk through downtown Central, letting his thoughts wander where they would and enjoying the anonymity of civilian attire in a city he'd visited only rarely over the past few years.

The sun had dropped below the level of the buildings and a light wind had blown away the last of the clouds by the time his feet carried him to a destination he hadn't consciously decided upon. He looked up to find himself standing in front of The Office, one of the bars he and Maes had frequented when they were both stationed in Central.

With a smile, he recalled the banter that would ensue whenever he looked at or spoke to one of the bar's waitresses in any way that could be construed as flirting—and Maes always had a rather broad interpretation of what could be called flirting, especially where Roy was concerned.

"Watch it, Mustang," he would say, a mock serious expression on his face. "You wouldn't want me to have to start reciting regs. Besides, you're the one who's constantly warning everybody about the dangers of having a relationship with anyone at The Office."

Roy always countered with a quip of his own. "Maes, everyone knows the only reason you come here is so you can tell Gracia you'll be at The Office until late, so don't bother waiting up."

The door to the bar swung open, interrupting Roy's musings. A group of young men stepped out, joking and laughing, accompanied by a waft of air tainted with the odors of liquor and cigarette smoke. It was a smell found in all bars, but the distinct blend of The Office's odors called forth another memory.

It was only days after Roy learned of his promotion to full colonel and his upcoming transfer to Eastern Command. Convinced the transfer was a demotion in disguise with the move up to colonel just a tasty bone thrown out to keep the military dog named Mustang quiet and well behaved, Roy had spent the evening lamenting his helplessness over the situation and how much it could set back his plans. In typical fashion, Maes had countered each of Roy's complaints by putting a positive spin on some aspect of the transfer: the power he'd have with his own command, the opportunities to get his name better known by tackling some of the problems in the east, the chance to recruit more soldiers to his side. They had both avoided any mention of the fact that it would keep them from working side by side for only the second time since they'd met, the first being the war in Ishbal.

On that day, Roy would have laughed off any suggestion that it was the last time he and Maes would visit The Office or one of the last times they would ever have an after-work drink together.

_The last time..._

The young men had moved on, and The Office door was closed again. Roy stared at it for a moment, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. He turned away and started back toward the hotel, pondering all of the _last times_ that now existed. The last time Maes made him laugh, the last time they'd gotten drunk together, the last time they spoke to one another...

_The last time they spoke..._ It had been only a handful of days ago, on the phone. Roy had been angry at Maes for keeping so much information about Ed and Al from him. Maes had fallen back on the lame excuse that he thought he'd mentioned it and then started chattering on about the rumor that Roy's transfer back to Central might be finalized soon and how he needed to start working on getting himself important again...and then the inevitable call to find himself a wife.

It was a signal they'd worked out years ago. Whenever Maes started babbling on the phone about personal issues, either his or Roy's, it meant he did not believe the line they were using was secure. It was Roy's signal to get off the phone, something he usually did by slamming it onto its cradle, supposedly in reaction to Maes' inane banter, but Roy always hoped that, should anyone actually be listening, the slam of the phone would give him or her one hell of a headache.

Worried about what Maes hadn't been able to tell him, he'd ordered Hawkeye to get them tickets on the next train to Central. But when they finally arrived, it was too late; Maes was dead.

The fact that his body was found near a public phone booth suggested he might have been trying to contact Roy when he was killed. Why hadn't he simply tracked down a secure military line and called from there? Hadn't he had the time to do so? Or did whatever he learn go so high that he dare not use a military line?

The upcoming investigation into Maes' murder should reveal more about that. If Maes had been right about his transfer back to Central, Roy would be able to keep a close eye on the investigation and see where it led. If the transfer turned out to be an unfounded rumor, he had people here in Central he could trust to watch it for him. If the investigation stopped suddenly or prematurely or seemed to lead in clearly implausible directions, he would know the problem truly lay high up. If it came to that, he would evaluate what was happening at the time and proceed accordingly. Until the investigation started, however, there was little he could do about any of it with the limited information he possessed.

He looked around and tried to imagine coming back to work in Central without being interrupted at least once a day by Maes dropping by his office and planting himself on the corner of his desk to share the latest gossip or show him his newest pictures of Elysia. Roy had always pretended annoyance at the interruptions, while secretly enjoying them as a welcome break in the day's tedious paperwork and meetings. Besides, the information Maes brought in the form of gossip was, as often as not, a clue to something important brewing. After his transfer to the east, Roy had missed those daily doses of insanity.

Roy knew that most people thought only of that good-natured insanity—the grinning, insufferable, photograph-wielding family man—when they thought of Maes Hughes. Yet, as honest as that aspect of Maes had been, it was really only a small part of a much larger whole that few people ever got to know...and no one would ever get the chance to know again.

Roy felt the lump growing in his throat again and the hot tightness behind his eyes that heralded tears. He drew a deep breath and took control of his emotions. He spotted a liquor store down a nearby sidestreet and went inside. He came out of the store minutes later, his purchase wrapped in a paper bag, and hurried back to the hotel.

Night had fallen by the time he reached his room. Without bothering to lock the door behind him or turn on a light, he made his way across the room to the desk and sat down. Bright stars dotted the dark square of sky that showed through the window.

He pulled the bottle he'd purchased out of the bag and set it on the desk beside to the two squat glasses provided with the room. He sat for a long time, staring out the window, letting his mind drift back over the day's events.

His hand was shaking with emotion when he finally opened the bottle and poured his first drink. He drained the glass and quickly refilled it.

"It's not fair, Maes," he whispered, blaming the burning in his eyes on the strength of the liquor. "You said you'd be here any time I needed someone to talk to." He took another drink. "I need someone to talk to now, Maes. I even left the door unlocked."

He sat clutching his glass for several minutes, some childish part of himself concentrating his attention on the door behind him, superstitiously expecting it to open and Maes to step through and tell him what he needed to hear to get on with a life once again turned upside-down by events beyond his control.

Roy laughed quietly to himself once it became clear the miraculous was not going to occur. "I don't seem to have grown up much, Maes. I still need you to verbally kick my ass."

He laughed again and thought back to that night and the encounter in the breezeway beside his apartment that lead to his confessions about Ishbal and everything that had happened there. That had been the first time since the war that he'd had the need to use his alchemy against a living target. And he'd frozen. Completely. Maes had been forced to kill a man to save both of their lives.

Roy felt certain Maes knew what had happened, but he never mentioned it, not that night or any other, not even when it happened a second time, years later, the day he faced Fullmetal on the parade grounds at Eastern Command.

"I saw the look you gave me when I came off the parade grounds," Roy said quietly. "You knew what happened, what I saw... Why I froze and let Ed get the upper hand. You'd seen it before." He took another drink. "You're the reason those memories still haunt me, Maes, and still drive me. And yet, what choice did I have back then? Madness? Or suicide? Madness doesn't sound like much fun, and I'm still too much of a coward to end it all. And so I go on living, working to reach the top. But now I have to do it without you, Maes, when all I really want to do is drink until I forget. Forget Ishbal, forget what happened there, what I did... Forget you're gone."

He sighed and stared into his drink. "But you won't let me forget that either, will you? I may not have grown up much, but I do remember the lessons you tried to teach me that night. Hold onto the memories...and use them. So now I have a new memory to hold onto and drive me towards my goal. The memory of the best friend any man could ever have." He filled the second glass and pushed it toward the corner of the desk. Looking up into the memory of Maes' smiling face, his sight blurred by unshed tears, he raised his glass in a toast. "You were right, Maes. You _will_ always be here if I need to talk."

Something flashed briefly in Roy's tear-filled eyes, most likely the light from a passing car, but Roy chose to believe it was a reflection off Maes' glasses as he returned the toast.

Taking one last sip from his glass, he gazed out the window at the clear night sky.

"Look, Maes, the rain's gone."

_END_

* * *

_Author's End Note:_ And so, there you have it, my first ever (and possibly last ever) fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed it.


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